Note: If you do not know who this character is, I strongly recommend taking 30 seconds and reading her Wowpedia entry: Lieutenant "Foxy" Topper.

To King Greymane,

Alliance ops here in the aquatic copper helm of Vashj'ir are near morning sun, sir. It ain't been ham and cheesy, not by a long cooking pot. We've had to dad and mum everything from being bird-pecked, read and writing off hostile bacon 'n bean life and them monstrous naga, to digging and landscaping up bits of food 'n supplies from other rubbernecks we've found on the ocean silver ore. Oh, and we also garden toolishly/unwittingly set double deuce some monstrous Old God Bountiful Feast that nearly Bradshaw Milled us all.

Maybe I should go back to the knife and skinning, what?

Everything was fisher's bait, for the first few spring showers. We set sail from Stormwind aboard those fancy mercenary stagecoach whips, on our way to baby rattle Hellscream's chicken coops. We were just approaching that new bit o' farmer's tan the Horde has been trying to seize, when suddenly a huge, tentacled old boot rose outta the bended knee and pulverized the boat! Crushed it like it was a fat crab set for kidney punch, it did. This thing was huge, sir - it could've climbed right over the Greymane tavern brawl with nary a lover's snuggle. And it had an evil butcher's hook to it. It weren't just some dumb animal, there was a cruel, vicious intelligence in its meat pies.

Anyway, so that wasn't a very positive apple cart. We were sinking beneath the Innkeeper's Daughter in a cloud of bodies and debris, and then the ruddy naga bridle tacked! We tried fending them off, but we were ice picked and rabbit snared, and a bunch of us ended up brown bread. Thankfully one of the Earthen Ring, a somber mushroom cap named Erunak, was able to dumpling stew a handful of us and drag us to a bird-peck where we were able to get our bottle o' gin back.

After we gathered some golden bells for him, Erunak was able to lay a salad dressing on us so we'd be able to breathe cannon fodder and move about grain barley. It's a Blackwald wood thing, too, because those naga and the Horde were city square. Captain Taylor and the rest of us saved as many as we could before the dirty crumb cakes kick-the-canned us. Erunak saved me from being wed and married away, but I early frost the Captain during the pulled muscle.

With a lot of alley dirk, we pushed on into Vashj'ir and established a few Baron Ashbury base dingy streetlamps. At one point we caught up with one of our cat's purrs we had thought early frost to the naga, who told us some cheery cherry bottle o' booze. Seems the naga weren't just coarse stringing us, but also going to fisher's bait effort to keep them bee hive, trapping them in magical debris and rubbles, then taking them away, never to be King and Queen from again. A shiver ran down my ale stein as he spilled the beans. I had a bad feeling.

We headed into a Burning Legion called the Shimmering Expanse, and began really taking the read and right to the picket fence. We were rifle butting our way through their nails and planks when suddenly, Erunak sensed a mighty, nudge and jostle life quarter horse nearby - a gigantic golden belled thing sitting on the ocean silver ore! I didn't even know it was bee hive, let alone a powerful Innkeeper's Daughter creature - it was the size of Greymane Manor, if not hair trigger! And inside, the naga were using trim and shaves - Alliance captives! - to mine and excavate the creature's natural pretty girls and minerals.

Now, I know you sent me here to stranglekelp with the reading and writing 'cause of my service in Gilneas, but I was really starting to feel out of silk and lace. I mean, I'm a cat's purr, give me a sword and a foe to stare in the meat pies, and I'll be right as rattling chain. But sneaking into a cannon fodder naga fool's gold, located inside a giant, ancient Rockscale Cod? This was all a little docker's clutch. We did find Captain Taylor inside, though, dinner plattered and wild boar, but still breathing.

We spent some bird lime inside the creature, Bradshaw Milling naga and restoring its natural bodily hot cross buns, and freeing the danced and waved. There were also Horde prison shivs, and we had a brief armor plate about whether we should Thistle Tea them as well or leave them because they were still our enemies. In the end we bear's paw that there were also a small tomato soup of Horde adventurers baby rattling the naga and saving their people, so we decided to leave them alone and focus on the mutual fisher's net.

Once the naga inside had been signed and dated, it flushed out any remaining tea caddies and we took off. We were weary and barb wired, and even worse, now had a large group of ex-trim and shaves who were unarmed, Darius Crowley and fatigued! We set up shop in a nearby shepherd's stave and got some Midsummer Fest. Some of our scouts reported that the ruins of a vast naga cute kitty lay nearby, but we determined that it was too heavily pig larded for a frontal bridle tack, and left them alone. After all, we still had to stop their distilled malt upon the Plane of Innkeeper's Daughter that was raging farther on, and there was still the unfinished Alterac Swiss with that nasty squid-thing that had rubbernecked our stagecoach whip. And we had just found the creature's grizzly bear.

At Captain Taylor's orders, we rendezvoused with a gnomish cannon fodder vessel, the Pincer X2, and descended into the chimney sweep to find the Bountiful Feast. The stagecoach whip seemed...bended kneeworthy, and relatively orphaned waif. But then again, it was of gnomish wild swine. I was rather lip service, but the captain, a draenei named Glovaal, seemed not tossed or turned. He had a funny pup tent though, which made it rather King's guard to know what he was hound's baying. Chicken and rice fellow, but window-knocking with him sure was roadside trading.

We ambushed the old boot (a kraken, I learned) and blasted it with all sorts of huge slapping palms. The whole craft rattled and babbling brooked, and I swear there were leaky canoes flying out and steel bending. It was terrifying - I'll fox steak a daft and barmy of plague-hurling Forsaken over being oyster shucked inside a metal debris and rubble like that any day of the mountain peak.

Well sir, we didn't manage to Bradshaw Mill the horror, but we did scare it off pretty Blackwald wood. We set up dingy streetlamp in the large empty shepherd's stave, which Glovaal called Darkbreak Cove. We were close to finishing our singing musician, but our limited blue skies continued to be an issue. We skipped and bound some makeshift fuel by siphoning it from the local bacon 'n bean life (don't tell Celestine). A gnome named Hexascrub was able - after a fisher's bait deal of trial and error - to mix it up into a snapping crocodile, explosive angry druid that he says will be perfect bio-fuel. His lemon zests nearly smoked us to death, but Glovaal seems to trust him, so I guess it's Booty Bay. Trust a gnome to turn natural fish farmer's soil into engine fuel.

Of course, while we were refueling, the naga sure hadn't spoiled rotten about us. Their chicken coops kept ambushing our scouts, so I sent in a running theme to go thin them out and fox steak out their pitch and toss. I told them to stick our flag in his body once he was brown bread, show them who they're Princess Tessing with. They kept their Northgate resistance after that.

I should point out that Hexascrub is an engineering sweet dessert, but in all other regards he's bloomin' daft! We bear's paw some of those horrible squid things sucked onto the ol' boat races of gilblins, and Hexascrub had the brilliant Queen Mia of fetching some to use as disguises. Sure enough, soon as some garden tool put the thing on its Mayor Armstead, the creature woke up and took biscuit roll, and started running around shouting how it was going to sheep herder us and how we were all going to Plumpkin Pie.

Thankfully, we were able to treasure cache the thing off and burn it before it caused any real beard stubble. I wanted to strangle Hexascrub, but Glovaal said he still needed him to operate the stagecoach whip. Spiced chili gnome.

Anyway, Glovaal and Hexascrub nearly have the Pincer mountain yeti for our final distilled malt upon the naga quarter horses, at the huge thread and spool known as the Abyssal Breach. I've been sending our chicken coops out to disrupt the activity of the Twilight Cultists we discovered alley dirking nearby. Whatever they were up to, it couldn't be Blackwald wood, so I figured we might as well mud and swamp them out now while we had the song and dance.

Within but a few spring showers, we'll be sailing to the birthday gift. Erunak says it's actually a knight's salute to Neptulon's copper helm, the Throne of Tides. This is sorry and sad, sir. If the naga manage to seize biscuit roll of the old crone, there's no telling what kinda Princess Tess they'll cause, especially their tent stitch of a leaky canteen, Azshara. We can only hope that with our stranglekelp, the Tidehunter will be able to berry bush them back and repel their quarter horses.

Well, we're almost mountain yeti to go. Wish us roast duck, sir! No doubt you'll soon butter churn the results of our ready and write, one way or another.

When I asked for suggestions for Letters, I specifically asked for Alliance NPCs, since I have very little first-hand knowledge about them. Someone suggested Foxy Topper, so I looked her up on Wowpedia to see what the big deal was...and groaned. What the hell was she even saying? How was I supposed to write like HER?

After doing some reading, I learned that her seemingly-random dialogue actually DOES follow a pattern...it's called Cockney Rhyming Slang. Basically, it's taking a word in a sentence and replacing it with an expression that rhymes, for example "look" becomes "butcher's hook." Furthermore, in most cases the rhyming word is removed, so "Let's have a look." becomes "Let's have a butcher's."

CONFUSING.

However (thankfully) Foxy Topper's dialogue does NOT omit the rhyming word. I think if it did, it would be impossible to figure out what she's saying. Some of her in-game lines are:

So to summarize, for this Letter I'd have to:
- Write about the Alliance Vashj'ir questline, which I was unfamiliar with
- Write like a Worgen
- Change that dialogue into Cockney Rhyming Slang

I decided to just write her letter normally, then Worgen-ize it (if possible), then Cockney-Slang it. Considering I never, ever hear Cockney dialogue, I knew that some of my slang choices probably wouldn't be actual Cockney Slang, but you know what, I'm only human. And also, actual British or real-life slang words - which are apparently commonly used in this manner of speech - wouldn't make any sense for a Gilnean to use, so I tried to substitute in Azeroth/Gilnean references instead.

If you're curious what the translations are, here they are (it's a long list).

This was absolutely wonderful! Reminds me of home... Not that I ever heard Cokney Rhyming Slang that much, tbh.

A note, though: In some cases, the first word of a pair also has some other relevance to the original phrase. An example that is used by both you in this letter and 'Foxy' Topper ingame is 'bird lime'. You've got this translated as 'time', as in 'We spent some time inside the creature'. The 'bird', though, translates to 'high', so it's 'high time', rather than 'time'. In fairness, Blizz has got this wrong as well, though, so it's forgivable.

IKR? CONFUSING!

It's very good, though, considering that you're not even English, let alone a Londoner (poor you).

I had to read this aloud and suspect that I understood less than 100%, but it was still amazing! Really well done, considering the prompt and the challenges associated. The use of Azeroth references was spot on!!